A Very Superlock, Destiel, and Johnlock Christmas Vacation
by ThePrettyLittleShipper
Summary: Everyone's favorite monster hunters & consulting detectives investigate the same case."Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Christmas cuddles and killings abound. The hunters come face to face with human evil, and the detectives must accept the impossible. This is set in seasons 4-5 of spn, & 1-2 of sher. R&R? Merry Xmas
1. What could possibly go wrong?

"Son of a biiiitch!" Dean groaned as his baby accelerated. The highway was in the middle of nowhere. This was supposed to be safe. When planning for possible craziness, Dean had reasoned that there were no other cars around, just miles of open road. What could possibly go wrong? Dean had decided that teaching his best friend to drive would be a great, and useful early Christmas present. After all, Cas was living a lifestyle that was increasingly human. He should probably know basic skills, like driving a car. Of course, when thinking of the "open road" Dean had not considered the trees surrounding the damn road. Snow was drifting down in gentle flakes, in a way that seemed much too calm for the current situation. They were swerving dangerously, and the hunter, who after all fought monsters for a living, felt his heart accelerating almost as fast as his car. "Jesus Christ, slow down!"

"How?" Castiel asked in an innocent tone. He turned to look at Dean with wide eyes, and tilted his head to the side, making Dean's heart melt. Why did he have to be so goddamn adorable? A frost covered pine in the forest which they were approaching much to fast drew Dean away from his distraction.

"Oh shit! Cas, turn!" he cried as they came within inches of the pine. It was too late. The side of the Impala scraped against its bark. "Damn it Cas, just hit the brakes!" Dean snapped.

"Dean, I don't know how!"

"Just hit the pedal on the left you idiot!" Dean really couldn't believe it was possible for his baby to move even faster, but somehow, it seemed to be happening. "Other left!"

"What?" Dean clenched his teeth as he unbuckled and swung his leg over the angel's lap, slamming his foot against the brake pedal. There was a scathing screeching sound as Dean's baby skidded to a stop.

Both men where slammed forwards. Dean's head smashed against the dashboard, and he jerked back with a yell, slamming into Cas. He found himself leaning back and holding his hand to his head. He realized only after a few moments of blinding pounding pain, that he was in Castiel's lap, leaning against him. One of his legs was still in his own seat, and the other was still pressed against the brake. Shit, what if the guy was hurt? Dean still didn't really get how that worked, or if Cas could be harmed by things like this.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asked. Dean slid the leg that was still in his own seat over so that he was all the way on the angel's lap. He twisted to look at Cas. Their faces were inches apart. Dean could feel himself pressed against the angel, sitting on his lap, and there was something happening in the hunter's lap as well…Wait, what the hell? NO. He should not be feeling what he thought he was feeling. What was going on with him? Maybe it had just been awhile, that was all. Dean tried to be subtle about covering his lap with his hands.

"Are you?" he asked.

"I am an angel of the lord. An incident such as this-"

"I just didn't know," Dean interrupted before he could hear more of Cas' bragging. What the Hell was he so proud of anyway? It wasn't like angels were all they were made out to be. They weren't righteous at all. Basically all of them except Cas were dicks with wings.

"Your head," Cas reached up, and placed a hand on the side of Dean's forehead with a carefulness that was amazing, considering the skills in battle Dean had seen his friend display.

"It's fine."

"If you are hurt, I will heal you."

"Thank you." With a touch of the angel's palm, the pain in his head vanished.

"Dean?"

"Yes?" Dean was pressed against the angel, shaking.

"Can you, um…Can you please climb off of me?" Dean felt his heart sink, for some reason he did not understand. He climbed into his own seat clumsily. Cas slipped off his trench coat, and Dean was confused.

"What the hell are you doing, you weirdo?" he asked. He rarely saw Cas take of the tan trench coat. He wore the damn thing twenty four seven for Christ's sake.

"Here," Cas handed Dean the coat. Dean just looked at it.

"Well I'm not going to hold this for you," he said. "Throw it in the back if you don't want to wear it." Cas rolled his eyes. Dean couldn't help but laugh at that. He was wearing off on his friend.

"I'm giving it to you to wear, you idiot," Cas said. Dean slipped on the coat. The cold still stung, but the thick fabric of the coat did help. It smelled nice, a little like sweat, and maybe laundry detergent. There was something else, something Dean couldn't place. It smelled like Cas, like his skin, his warmth, his presence.

"Thanks, I'm freezing," Dean said, as he wrapped the coat around himself. Why was his heart beating so fast? The danger was over.

"You're welcome," came Cas' reply. Damn, his voice was deep. Dean looked up, and found himself lost in the beautiful blue pools of Castiel's eyes. They gazed at one another for several moments before Dean remembered that Sam was waiting at the hotel with burgers, and, if the bitch actually remembered this time, pie. Sam was probably obsessively researching right now anyway. They were trying to track down something that was sneaking into people's houses through their chimneys and leaving lots of blood and a little chocolate along with a stench like death. Dean hoped his baby bro came up with something because this case had him pretty stumped. "We should go back."

"Perhaps you should drive on the way back," Cas suggested. No shit, Dean thought. He snorted as he climbed out of the car to switch spots.

"Perhaps," he muttered as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Nice word. You're such a nerd, Cas." Dean started the Impala moving just in time to swerve out of the way as another car came flying at them. He cringed as he heard the crunch of metal when the other car collided with the back of his baby. Dean could feel his shocked expression as he climbed out of the car to see who had hit them in the vehicle which seemed to have come from nowhere. He could see that the back of the Impala was badly dented, but fixable. He made his way over to the other car, which was pulled over a little ways ahead of them. Inside, a tall dark haired man and a short light haired man were arguing. It was the dark haired one that was driving, and he looked downright intimidating. Even Dean was impressed. The pleasant British accent took some of the edge off the dude's demeanor though.

"I told you, Americans are all stupid, John, this is an idiot nation."

"Sherlock, we haven't even seen if they're alright! Besides, you think everywhere is an idiot nation."

"Compared to me, I am right in thinking so. Does it matter?"

"If they're alright? Of course it matters!"

"It was still their fault."

"All the same, I think that we should-" the short, light haired man stopped speaking midsentence when he saw Dean staring into his window. "Hello there," he said.

"Hi," Dean said, struggling to keep his tone calm. "You guys hit us."

"You were parked in the middle of the road, you complete moron."

"Who are you calling moron jackass?"


	2. Don't wanna be an American idiot!

"Why are we in Ohio again?" Sherlock asked, glaring at the empty open road ahead. "Americans are all so stupid." John groaned. The man could determine the number of times a person had gone to the bathroom on any given day, whether they were single or not, and if they had eaten crumpets for brunch, all in an instant of observation. It seemed he should be able to grasp the concept of why two friends would want to travel together during the Holidays, even take time off. Any average person would be able to. Of course, Sherlock Holmes was not just anyone.

"It's a vacation for Christ's sake, Sherlock. My great aunt has offered us her very nice home while she's in Florida celebrating warm weather because she hates the cold, and she hates winter, and especially Christmas." There was a frosty pine forest on either side of the road, and soft snowflakes were tumbling from the pale grey sky, which served as a reminder of the time of year. If only Sherlock could get into the Christmas spirit, and appreciate those little things.

"It is not a vacation. We are investigating a case." Sherlock had discovered a case almost as soon as they arrived at the pub where they were meant to be having a drink. People were discussing it. Apparently, someone had been climbing into people's homes through their chimneys and leaving them torn to shreds. Sherlock's reaction was downright jolly. One would have supposed it was the best Christmas present he had ever received when he heard the news. 'Tis the season, John thought bleakly.

"Right," he muttered. Sherlock was staring at him. He avoided his friend's eyes. God, stupid Sherlock, with his stupid cheek bones, and his stupid face. John didn't want to see the genuine confusion over something so simple. It was ridiculous. The man acted as if he had no concept of being human. He always acted so high and mighty. He seemed to think he was above everyone else. It wasn't as if he were righteous, or great or anything. He was a psychopath for God's sake. Or, well, no, John had done his research now. He was a high functioning sociopath.

So why did he, John, put up with it? He supposed because there was a part of him that related all too well to the consulting detective. When Sherlock asked him if he wanted adventure, he had jumped in without question. His ghost limp had gone away as he became distracted by the excitement surrounding the man who was now his closest friend. He had forgotten to hold himself back. Sherlock Holmes had that effect on him.

"Keep your eyes on the road," John muttered. He wasn't worried about Sherlock not being able to focus. That was the least of his worries. Sherlock was acutely aware of everything, so John was certain they were safe. He just didn't want to be stared at in that bewildered manner. What the hell was so incomprehensible about vacation?

"My eyes are on the road."

"Well quit staring at me, its creepy."

"Is it?" Now Sherlock was grinning. John could feel the camaraderie between them when Sherlock teased him like that. The dark haired detective's face grew grim as he continued staring with those striking pale blue eyes. John ran a hand though his light hair, looking away to hide the color flooding into his cheeks. Sherlock could never know how much those brief, rare, genuine, smiles meant to John.

They drove in silence for a time, with John gazing out of the window, thinking how this dark and mysterious stranger had rather swept him off his feet like some powerful wind. He had been blown into a life he had never imagined living. He was working with a consulting detective for crying out loud. They solved crimes together, whatever took their fancy, whatever captured their curiosity they would investigate. It was like living in some exciting novel series.

John looked up and was surprised to see Sherlock was staring at him still, but he was no longer smiling, nor did he appear questioning. He was just looking. There was something in his eyes that John could not place. It was as if he, John, were some great mystery to be solved. Sherlock seemed to notice John staring back, and tried to cover up the moment by smiling, as if he were still teasing his friend. It was too late. Something unspoken had passed between them. Suddenly, before either of them could say anything smart ass to each other, John spotted a black Impala parked in the middle of the road.  
"Sherlock look out!"

"What?"

"There's a-" SLAM. John squeezed his eyes shut, for a moment pretending that this had not just happened. "Shit. How did you of all people miss that?" Sherlock blinked. He looked alarmed, and then he hurried to try and disguise his error. John was sure it had something to do with that look Sherlock had given him before.

"I told you, Americans are all stupid, John. This is an idiot nation."


	3. What Dreams May Come

Castiel settled himself into a comfortable position in the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean and the tall dark stranger exchanged shouts standing outside of the car on the side of the highway. The other passenger was a short light haired man, and he looked rather bored. Cas wondered if, like him, this man was used to this sort of thing.

Dean was the most fun person Cas had ever been around. Of course, it wasn't like Cas had ever spent much time around people. Still, he enjoyed the righteous man he had raised from perdition. That didn't mean he had to enjoy everything about the hunter.

He sighed as Dean called the man who had hit them a stream of profanities. He was accustomed to the chaos and inequity that Dean personified in many ways. He accepted it because Dean was also enjoyable company. Cas had existed in a very constrained manner up until he met Dean Winchester. Dean was the beginning of his fall from grace, and of his ascension to someone who cared about more than being a hammer and following orders. Dean introduced the idea of enjoying one's time, of doing things like learning to drive, or eating pie, which had no greater purpose than self-satisfaction. This idea of free will was still new to him, and he found himself drawn to the forbidden concept, and even more to the hunter himself. Perhaps that was why Castiel never complained too much about the hunter's tendency to argue with strangers, have intercourse with many different partners, drink copious quantities of alcohol, and, well, the list could go on for much longer.

This was not all there was to Dean Winchester, though. Castiel knew this with every fiber of his being. Dean's soul had many layers, and there were endless parts of him that no one except for Sam and Cas were allowed to see. Castiel had seen this man's soul, he had touched it, and he knew how righteous the hunter was, even if he did not let the world see. Castiel knew Dean on a level that no one else, not even Sam, ever could. They shared a profound bond that transcended anything that anyone else had ever experienced. After all, how many friends or lovers had touched one another's souls? It was the most intimate exchange two beings could share.

He found himself watching the argument between Dean and the dark haired man with mild interest. The snow was falling into their hair, and Cas gazed at Dean's lovely sandy hair, thinking how beautiful the hunter was. Of course, he would never say this to Dean. He would never tell his closest friend how nice it was to gaze into those gorgeous light green eyes, or see the muscles on those strong arms rippling as he fought a monster, or demon.

The dark haired man kept shooting furtive glances at the man with light hair who was sitting in the car looking vague. The short one in the car was not paying attention, so he didn't see the concern that flashed across the ice blue eyes of his friend. He recognized the way that this man was trying to hide the protectiveness he felt over his friend. It was obvious that there was something unsaid between them, something that Cas was sure from what he had seen of humans, they would both deny. He felt a slight smile pull at his lips as he watched the worry in the dark haired man's eyes when Dean pointed at the cars angrily. He obviously didn't like Dean even pointing or looking towards his friend.

Castiel saw everything with the clarity of an outsider. He could not see people's souls on earth as well as he could in Heaven or Hell. They were almost hidden when they were in someone's body. He could see enough, though. He saw the way that their souls were drawn to one another. It wasn't something one witnessed very often. Cas had seen it a few times before in Heaven. It was for cases like this that the angels made an exception the rule of everyone having their own personal Heaven. It would be fundamentally wrong not to make an exception for soul-mates.


	4. SexyBritishAccents&ClassicRockAliases

Sam flipped through the papers filled with news of grizzly death, grimacing as he imagined the endless types of monsters that might be responsible. The hotel room's coldness matched the icy chill Sam felt when examining the coroner reports he had taken as evidence with the help of his fake FBI badge. Sam ran a hand through his auburn hair as he leaned over the table where his laptop along with stacks of papers was sitting. He wished Dean was there helping him, but when he thought about what his big brother was doing, he took back the wish. Sam couldn't help but smile when he thought of Dean's oh so innocent suggestion that teaching their guardian angel in a trench coat to drive would be a practical early Christmas present.

Sam wondered when the two of them were going to admit the truth to him. Something was going on. It would take a complete moron, or a blind and deaf person, to deny that. As the older Winchester and the angel had had so delicately explained to Sam, Castiel was the one to have "gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition." As if their meet cute and the intensity with which they stared at one another wasn't enough, there was also the fact that Cas had full on rebelled against Heaven for Dean. Hell, Cas himself had even said it. "I'm hunted, I'm rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you." Sam smirked.

It couldn't have been more clear that there was something between them if they moved in together almost right after meeting. Dean could act macho until the world ended, but Sam knew his brother. No matter how much he tried to hide his emotions, they were there. Maybe buried in the time he spent solving cases and trying to hide how much he cared about those around him, but very clearly there. After everything that the angel had done for Dean, Sam was pretty sure it was no longer an option to deny that there was something beyond a typical bromance going on. This dark stranger had mysteriously come out of nowhere, and swept Dean off of his feet, taking him on an adventure that most people couldn't even dream of.

Sam remembered his big brother telling him once that when he was first raised from Hell, only Castiel had realized why Dean was so adamant that angels could not be real. Even Sam had not understood the true reason for his big brother's insistence that he was "not groped by and angel." Dean's words echoed in Sam's head as he flipped through the news on his laptop.

"He just looked at me, Sammy, and sort of tilted his head in that stupid way he does. He said 'What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved.' How he saw through me, I don't know, but he did. All I had to do was mention how good things didn't happen in my experience. He saw right through me, like no one ever has. It was like he knew all of the horrible things you and I had been through, and he knew that I didn't feel-" Dean's voice had wavered, and he had paused as if wondering whether he should finish the vulnerable sentence. Sam had placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder as Dean nodded. "It was like he knew I didn't feel worthy." Sam's heart still ached when he remembered Dean saying that. At that time, only Castiel had been able to see Dean's pain, to grasp with angelic clarity what even Sam missed.

So Sam was glad that the two of them were spending some time together. Obviously the case was important, but sometimes, even if it was only a few hours every few days for driving lessons, vacation was necessary. After all, maybe getting away from what they were used to was just what they needed. Sometimes being in a new place was enough to allow people to see things from a new perspective. Sam knew his big brother would not easily admit something as soft and sweet as being in love, it would be way too much of a chick flick moment. No, there would be denial, rage, bargaining, maybe depression, but eventually there would have to be acceptance.

"Hey Sam!" Dean's voice called. "We've got company." Sam pulled his silver knife out of his pocket and whipped around. "Not that kind of company…" Dean groaned. His face growing red, Sam shoved the knife back in his pocket. Dean and Cas were standing in the doorway, and behind them were two other men. One was very tall, around the same height as Sam, with dark hair and ice blue eyes. He wore a dark trench coat that contrasted his pale skin. The other was very short, with light blond hair and blue eyes. When they spoke, they had loft British accents that Sam supposed his sex crazed brother found irresistible. Well, if they were planning something weird, Sam supposed he would have to get his own room.

"Hello," said the short one. "My name is John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes. We're, erm, consulting detectives." Oh. Well, that was a relief. Sam wanted his brother to be happy, but he was kind of glad that his brother and the angel weren't trying to do anything too crazy.

"We're investigating the same case as you three. Your partners have already explained that you are the American FBI, and you don't need our help. However, even if I believed your obviously fake badges, I would say you absolutely need our help, or at least mine." The one named Sherlock spoke so fast Sam had trouble keeping up. He realized he was still standing in the middle of the room, while they were hovering in the doorway.

"Right," he said. "Well, come in." The four men entered the room, and they all stood around awkwardly.

"Fake badges?" John whispered to Sherlock, who shrugged, shooting a smirk at Sam.

"The pictures aren't even aligned perfectly. If you're going to pretend to be FBI agents, don't use such shoddy workmanship, agents Kottak, Steier, and Shore." Sam, Dean, and Cas exchanged a shrug.

"Wait, wait, agents what?" John chuckled. "Classic rock fans?"

"What are you talking about John?" Sherlock looked thrown off for the first time.

"Oh, never mind," John muttered.

"Son of a bitch," Dean burst out. "You said you wanted to," he imitated a British accent. "Assist us in our work."

"I figured that was what you would listen to. Besides, I do want to assist you. I simply didn't feel the need to tell you right away that I saw right through your rather obvious cover. So, I suppose like John and myself, you lot are consulting detectives? That is bloody brilliant," Sherlock said with a wide smile. "Now, shall we discuss the case? Oh, this is going to be so much fun."


	5. Denial

"No way. You are not working with us," Dean said. Sherlock rolled his eyes. So, Dean thought that he had a say in the matter.

"Show me the evidence you've collected or I'll go straight to the police about your fake badges." The three supposed agents exchanged a glance. "Oh, you think I'm bluffing?" Sherlock chuckled. "Trust me. I have connections with both the British and American police forces."

Sherlock despised this "Dean Winchester." He was obviously arrogant in his skills, self-absorbed, and secretly in love with his best friend yet determined to deny it. The glances the two shot at one another when they thought the other wasn't looking and the protective stances they kept beside each other made this so painfully clear it almost wasn't funny. Of course, the long looks they shared when both looked at each other at the same time were even more ridiculously loving.

He watched the tall one, Sam Winchester, spreading out the coroners' reports and newspapers on the desk so that Sherlock could see them. He stood just a little in front of John, keeping an eye on the taller Winchester, and especially on that knife he had in his pocket. He was ready to block the way if the Winchester pulled the weapon back out. Sherlock glanced behind him very briefly to see if John noticed this. Of course he didn't. No one was as observant as Sherlock.

"See, they were just torn to shreds," Sam was saying.

"Um, Sammy, do you think I could talk to you?" Dean asked. He had a rather obnoxious manner. He was way too sure of himself, like no one had ever denied him anything. Sam looked at his brother with a question in his eyes. "Alone," Dean stated. The two walked out of the hotel room, and Sherlock walked over to the table to see what evidence these fake agents had collected. He picked up a few of the papers.

Sherlock felt his eyes widen in shock, but tried to hide it. Sam was right. These people had been torn to shreds. This was bizarre. Sherlock would not say it out loud, but he was baffled. This did not make any sense.

"Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock looked up to see John standing beside him, looking over the papers. Their arms were pressed against one another. The man named Cas was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at them in the most intense way. Sherlock was able to recognize people like himself, like Jim Moriarty, people who didn't quite fit. They were very rare, and this man, this Cas, he was one of them. "Any ideas?" John asked.

"Many," Sherlock said. "But none that quite fit. This one is going to be fun, John." He grinned at his friend, and their eyes met for several seconds.

"Like what?" interrupted a deep, penetrating voice. "What ideas do you have?" Sherlock turned towards Cas.

"Many," Sherlock repeated. His voice was steady, but his heart was not. He was truly baffled, so he hoped that this man would leave him be. Cas only nodded knowingly. Sam and Dean came back in.

"Listen," Dean said. "We showed you everything we know. Now, can you please let the professionals take care of this?" Oh, how cute. They thought they were the professionals.

"No," Sherlock stated. No one denied Sherlock something when he wanted it. He wanted to work with them, partially because they seemed to know more about the case than they were letting on, and partially because he would rather work with them than against them. He wanted to solve a case, not start a petty rivalry.

"No?" Dean looked shocked, like no one had ever said no to him before.

"It would be better if we worked together."

"Look, that's not an option, man. No offense, but the three of us kind of work better without outside help." Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm sure," he said. None of them seemed to understand the amusement. "Oh come on," he said, staring at Dean and Cas who were standing much closer together than two friends normally did. Their arms were practically touching. "You could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife." Their shocked faces were worth it. Sherlock turned and left.

John, who was standing not even an inch from Sherlock, was on his heels. They walked together to the rental car parked near the Impala in the parking lot. If they were rejecting Sherlock's help, fine. He and John worked better alone too.


	6. Rage

Part 1

"Sexual tension?" Dean sputtered. He could not believe this. No way. There was no sexual tension. He was pacing the room as he shouted his head off.

"Well, I mean…" Sam trailed off. Dean glared at his brother, who was sitting on his bed. Cas was sitting on Dean's bed, staring straight ahead.

"Why aren't you pissed about this, Cas?" Dean snapped, turning to the angel. "I mean come on, me and you?" The very idea was so ridiculous. Dean had no idea where this Sherlock jackass had gotten it. Cas tilted his head to the side in that fucking obnoxious way of his, his wide blue eyes widening.

"I don't see why the idea is so upsetting to you, Dean." Dean glared at him. There were a million reasons.

Because Cas meant the world to him, and there was a reason why Dean only had sex with people he didn't give a damn about. Because there were so few people that Dean considered family or friends, and he would never let sex ruin things. Because nothing ever ended up exactly peachy for the people Dean loved. Because he and Cas shared a profound bond, and that was something wonderful, something Dean had never experienced, and he couldn't risk screwing it up.

"Because it's stupid, Cas. I mean, come on, where did he even get that? We would never, not in a thousand years, hook up."

"Right," Cas said. There was something wrong in his voice. It was even more hoarse than usual. Dean couldn't look at the angel, although he could feel the piercing blue eyes on him. There was a pause in which Dean was sure that Cas was waiting for him to gaze back, but he couldn't do it, not this time. Not now that Sherlock had said what he said. There was a flutter of feathers, and when Dean looked up, the angel was gone. Sam was sitting on his own bed, with wide eyes, staring at the place where Cas had been sitting.

"Damn," Sam murmured. "That was-"

"Shut the Hell up, Sam," Dean snapped. "I need some air." He marched out of the room into the cold evening, and slammed the door behind him. It was icy outside, and the snow began collecting on Dean's shoulders as he stomped through the streets without direction. The sun was going down, and the darkness was closing in.

As he walked down the almost empty streets, he was not keeping track of where he was heading. Someone screamed from inside of one of the houses. Dean turned to see which it was, and began hurrying to the front door. There was another awful screech, and some extremely creepy laughter. Ho, ho, ho. What in the actual hell?

Part 2

"Sherlock what was all that about?" John asked as they cruised down the highway, and the snow cascaded down. As the evening progressed, snow was collecting across the sidewalks and streets. Every damn hotel was full, not that there were many around.

"What do you mean?"

"Sexual tension? I didn't exactly get that impression."

"Well, that would be because I'm much cleverer than you."

"Oh whatever," John sighed. He was used to this, but that didn't mean it couldn't piss him off. Sherlock pulled into an almost empty parking lot at a gas station. "What are you doing?" John asked.

"We're staying here," Sherlock said. "I suppose there aren't going to be any hotels open, and of course your aunt's house is still hours away."

"Oh come on, we can't stay in a gas station parking lot, Sherlock." He could not believe that Sherlock was serious about this. "I mean, bloody hell, its freezing out here." Sherlock gazed into John's eyes for a long moment. John had heard before that the eyes were the windows to the soul. So what lay behind those striking blue eyes like icicles? Sherlock's soul was the most impossible mystery John had ever faced.

"Here," Sherlock slipped off his dark trench coat. John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock smiled the tiniest bit as he handed John the coat. John shook his head, shoving the coat back towards Sherlock.

"I have a coat. It's in my suitcase in the trunk. I'll get it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said. "I know your coat is buried. It is only logical that you wear mine."

"Logical," John scoffed.

"What?" Sherlock asked. There was still a glint of something soft and caring, something that was only there when he thought he could hide it, in Sherlock's eyes.

"Not everything has to be logical," John said. He felt strange. He had said so many times before that he was not gay. He could say it all he wanted, but he could hardly deny the swooping feeling he felt when he looked at his friend. He was not sure what he was doing as he leaned forwards. Sherlock's pale face and sharp cheek bones were inches from him. Sherlock was leaning in as well. It was impossible to tell who made the final move that broke the space between them. He felt his lips press almost involuntarily against Sherlock's.

"What the hell was that?" Sherlock jerked away. He was glaring at John.  
"I…I have no idea," John stuttered. He honestly didn't.  
"Well it had better never happen again!" Sherlock snapped. John felt his face redden. No way. Sherlock didn't get to do this, not this time. He couldn't always act as if he were so perfect. John had seen his vulnerability just now. Maybe that was why Sherlock never dated. He was afraid of showing weakness.

"Are you kidding me?" John said, and it came out an involuntary yell. A couple pulled their young children close to them as they passed by on the way to their own car. John's face felt hot. He was fuming. "You're the one who offered me your damn coat!" He had never seen Sherlock look so ruffled.

"Damn it, John. It doesn't matter. It just can't happen again." Sherlock smashed his fist against the dashboard.  
"Fine," John snapped. "I need some air." He slammed the car door behind him as he headed to the sidewalk.

He wandered mindlessly down the sidewalk, glaring around. What did Sherlock know? Maybe John never wanted it to happen again either. He could be such an insensitive asshole sometimes.

The streets were just about empty. John wasn't paying much attention to where he was going when he heard a woman scream from in one of the houses. He hurried towards the door without hesitation. Another scream was followed by an eerie, deep laughter. Ho, ho, ho. What in the bloody hell?


	7. Bargain

Castiel walked down the sidewalk portraying a sense of purpose that he did not feel. The snow was collecting on his shoulders and in his hair. If he were human, he would feel the desire to brush it off. He was not human, though. He clenched his teeth as he marched on as if he knew where he was headed.

He hated how blind to human signals he could be. After all, he had been on earth for around two years. His people skills shouldn't still be so rusty. He was stupid for mistaking his friendship with Dean for anything else. Now his best friend in the universe wouldn't even look at him. This hurt because there was nothing Cas preferred to gazing into those gorgeous green eyes.

Someone screamed. It came from one of the houses he was passing. Cas flapped his wings and appeared inside of the house where the scream came from just in time to see a pair of black boots literally flying up the chimney. The living room was decorated with flashing different colored holiday lights. Standing in the corner of the room were both Dean and John Watson. Cas glanced at them to make sure they weren't hurt, but he was more distracted by the horrific sight before him. There was a Christmas tree with presents under it, but holiday gifts were not all that was under the tree. A woman was lying among the wrapping and bows, her body torn to shred. There were red speckles of blood splattered across the room. The woman's body was shredded to ribbons. Cas kneeled down to examine her. It looked like claw marks. A soft song was playing from a record machine in the corner. "But baby its cold outside," the singer crooned. Cas turned towards Dean and John.

"Dean, are you hurt?" he asked. He forgot to hide the intensity in his voice, or to stop staring at Dean as if he were the only person in the world who mattered.

"No," Dean said. There was a moment when their eyes met, and Cas felt that everything might be alright after all. "We're both fine. We came in just a second before you did."

"Did either of you see what did this?" Cas asked. Dean shook his head.

"Do you mean 'who' did this?" John asked. Dean and Cas exchanged a look. Cas may have lacked a certain skill when it came to communication, but he was sure that the affection that was normally there had returned to Dean's eyes.

"Yes, of course, John," Cas said, without taking his eyes off of Dean. He hoped that this meant they could forget Dean's outburst. Maybe they could agree to keep things the way they were. Cas didn't need any more, as long as he didn't have to stop spending time with the righteous man he had raised from Hell and rebelled against Heaven for. Nothing mattered as long as he could still see him.

Sherlock burst in the door at that moment, pointing a gun around. Everyone stared at him. When Sherlock saw John, he ran over to him, and wrapped his arms around him in a brief hug.

"I heard there was another attack," he said, keeping his hands on John's shoulders as he made sure his friend was alright. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. We were too late though," John nodded at the grizzly sight beneath the Christmas tree. Sherlock examined the body for a moment before turning to the rest of them.

"We need to go," the detective said. "Now. I heard about this on a police radio I hacked into. They'll be here any moment." Everyone agreed, and they rushed out the back door, taking off down an alley. The snow as tumbling steadily from the grey sky, and the sun was almost down. Panting, they all stopped running when they were deep in the shadows.

"So," Sherlock said. "What do you say we work together?" Dean sighed.

"Fine. But I don't have to like it."

"No one ever said you did."

"Let's start fresh, why don't we?" John asked. "I say we all forget any possibly unpleasant or uncomfortable experiences we might have had, and agree to be friends." They all nodded. It was a good bargain.


	8. Depression

Sam was tempted to slam his face into the table. This was painful, it really was. John and Sherlock were sitting on one bed, refusing to look at each other for some reason. Dean and Cas were sitting on the other bed, and wouldn't stop staring at each other. This left Sam sitting there, tapping his foot as he attempted to do research on possible monsters. Of course, Sam had to keep this hidden from John and Sherlock who were both trying to peek at Sam's laptop.

"OK," he said finally. "What am I missing here?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, distracted from gazing into Cas' eyes.

"Guys we're doing research, remember?" Sam sighed.

"She had a kid, Sam," Dean said softly. "He had to see her like that after we left. The police reports say he thought it was because she hated Christmas. Apparently she and her husband were fighting about it earlier that day, and now the kid blames his dad."

"And if you had stayed, what could you have done about that?" Sam asked. It was late at night, and his big brother couldn't seem to stop obsessing over the evening's events. Sam couldn't blame him, but he wished he would stop. "You saw the monst-" he caught himself. "The man escaping up the chimney somehow," he continued. "It-he-was gone. There was nothing more you could have done." Dean didn't look any less depressed. He and Cas returned to gazing into one another's eyes.

"Oh get a room already," Sam moaned.

"Right?" Sherlock chuckled. Sam shot him a funny look. Was this guy kidding? Sam wondered which was worse, Dean and Cas' obsessive eye sexing, or John and Sherlock's determination not to do the exact same thing.

"This is ridiculous," Sam said. "I'm going to bed."

"Right," Sherlock said. "About that. John's aunts house is hours away, and there aren't really any other rooms, so we're staying here." Sam groaned. Great, just great.


	9. not acceptance, just 5 men & 2 beds

Part 1

There were only two beds, and five men. Sammy called customer service, but they were only allowed to have one cot sent up, and of course Sammy claimed it. Sherlock was already beneath the blankets in one of the beds, and John was climbing in with him. Castiel was in Dean's bed, purposefully facing the wall. Dean took a deep breath and crawled under the covers.

He told himself to relax. If their profound bond could not survive a bit of sexual tension, it could not be that profound, right? He was not going to ruin his relationship with his best friend in the world over something so stupid. Dean could feel warmth from somewhere deep inside, maybe his soul. He felt this sensation whenever the angel was near, or when he prayed, and felt that Cas heard him.

Castiel was the angel who gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition, and in doing so, he touched righteous man's soul. Dean still didn't believe that he was righteous, but Cas insisted he had known which soul he was to save, that it was clear beyond a shadow of doubt. Dean could feel their bond when he gazed into eyes that were every color of blue, or when Cas held him close as the angel zapped them somewhere, or when they fought evil together, or right now as he felt his back pressed against his angel's.

Dean shivered as he remembered the hand mark Cas had left on his arm, a physical reminder of the bond they shared. The print was gone, when Castiel healed Dean after the battle with Lucifer, he had removed it. Their bond was beyond being physical, though. It went beyond any friendship, or romance that anyone had ever shared before, because how many friends or lovers had touched one another's souls? How many people could say that there was someone in their life who had sacrificed everything, rebelled against everything, for them? Of course, that absolutely did not mean that he, Dean, was a damsel in distress.

Castiel must have thought that Dean was trembling from the cold, because he turned around, and wrapped his arms around Dean. This wasn't playing fair. It was dark, and no one could see them. It was late and Dean was certain everyone else was asleep. He turned around, and pressed his face into the angel's chest, into the white button up shirt he had grown to adore. The tan trench coat rustled as Cas pressed himself closer to Dean. The angel smelled so nice, Dean breathed in deeply, and pressed his body closer to the angel's, wrapping his arms around his friend's neck. His fingers wound in that ever so adorable messy black hair.

"Dean?" Cas whispered.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I don't sleep."

"I know, but we can't let John and Sherlock find out the truth. Just pretend."

"I mean…" his voice trailed off. Dean pulled his face away from the fabric of Cas' shirt, and gazed into the beautiful eyes.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Are you tired, Dean?" The hunter's heart was racing. His hips were smashed against Cas'. He could feel heat rushing through his blood. "Can you sleep, Dean?"

"No," he murmured. He was exhausted, but he felt the lovely lie leave his lips anyway.

"I have some ideas of what we could do instead," Cas breathed, and it was so soft Dean almost thought he had imagined it. Their faces were so close. Dean could feel the heat of Cas' breath on his face. Their bodies were shoved together under the covers, and Dean could feel that he was not the only one getting hot. He wondered if the angel recognized the feeling.

"Cas, we shouldn't. We can't." His body was acting against his words.

He would regret it in the morning, but he no longer cared. Dean leaned in at the same time Cas did. It was impossible to say who made the final move that separated the distance between their lips. Their hips started to rock against one another's.

Their lips were smashing together in perfect synchronization, even though Castiel's movements were a little unsure. The angel pulled away, and Dean wondered if he agreed that they shouldn't, that they couldn't.

"Dean," he said, his lips almost brushing the hunter's as they hugged each other under the blankets.

"What?"

"I've never done this before. I hope I'm doing OK." Dean chuckled.

"You're doing about a thousand times better than OK." They both laughed softly in the darkness as they pressed their lips together again, and rocked their bodies together. The springs on the mattress protested creakily. Dean felt a soft moan escape him.

"Oh would you two shut up already?!" came John's voice. Dean and Cas froze, and stared into each other's eyes in widened shock.

Sam snorted from the cot below them. Apparently they had not been as quiet as they thought. Dean turned away from Cas, facing into the darkness, his face burning. The next morning was going to suck.

Part 2

John could not believe that the tall Winchester guy had called the cot. He wished that he had said something faster. He wished that Sam wasn't such a big and intimidating guy, and he could have argued. He wished more than anything that he had never made a move in the car. What had he been thinking? He and Sherlock could be sleeping in the rental car in the gas station parking lot. He could deal with the cold, really. It would be better than this.

This was just embarrassing. Sherlock was his best friend. Besides, who the hell knew about his sexuality, but Sherlock Holmes sure as hell was not cut out for a relationship. He hated that this was even something he was thinking about. They fought crime together. They were best friends, damn it. Besides, he, John Watson, was definitely not gay.

Still, Sherlock had come out of nowhere. He had come and swept John off of his feet, and taught him not to be afraid. He had taught John not to be afraid, not to let anything get in his way. It was a result of working with Sherlock that John no longer walked with a limp. Sherlock had chosen him as a partner, for some reason. Now he was teaching John to be brave step by step. John still didn't know why Sherlock had chosen him, but Sherlock seemed to know without a shadow of a doubt, that he had made the right choice. That made John's heart warm. Hell, Sherlock's presence, his closeness, made John feel a warmth coming from somewhere deep inside, maybe his soul.

So maybe sometimes there were exceptions to sexuality. Irene Adler thought so. John would never forget the moment they had shared as he insisted on his heterosexuality, and she reminded him that she was a lesbian, yet there she was obsessing over Sherlock Holmes. The consulting detective seemed to have that effect on people. He had swept John off his feet and into a new and exciting world of adventure. Of course, that absolutely did not mean that he, John, was a damsel in distress.

John turned towards Sherlock and saw that his friend was already facing him. Those pale blue eyes seemed to gaze into John's soul. He felt his heart beating faster. Heat spread throughout his body, and he couldn't deny, especially to a certain region hidden by the blankets. He shivered, and Sherlock scooted a little closer, mistaking the movement as a result of cold.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"What?"

"Do you hear Dean and Cas over there? Those two are the absolute worst whisperers I have ever heard." John listened for a moment. Indeed, they were pretty loud.

"We can't let John and Sherlock find out the truth." John and Sherlock exchanged a long look. At first, they were both wondering what the hell these odd fake FBI agents were babbling about. It only took a few moments before they were lost in one another's eyes.

John thought of earlier, of his lips pressed against Sherlock's. This was ridiculous. It was crazy. He needed to stop thinking about that. It happened in a moment of insanity, and meant nothing. It could not mean anything. Sherlock meant the world to John, and he was not about to let something so stupid get in the way.

Sherlock made John happier than he had ever been. He was addicted to the thrill of solving mysteries. That much he could not deny. It was more than that, though. John had never had the best luck with relationships. He usually ended up breaking up with a girl, or more often being dumped, after no more than a week or two.

Before he met Sherlock, he was alone more often than not. He spent many evening eating a solitary dinner. Now, the fridge in 221B was usually either empty, or stocked with something disgusting, like body parts. Yet, they ordered carry out together, or went to the diner down the road together. He didn't have to be alone.

He could spend time with someone as messed up in the head as he was. If he was being honest, probably even more messed up. John would never forget those words Sherlock had spoken to him after he grew angry when Sherlock said he didn't have friends. "I don't have friends. I just have one." That was so sweet, it still made John's heart melt to remember. He was the exception to Sherlock's self isolation.

John told his brain to shut up when he realized where his thoughts were taking him. Right. He was trying to convince himself that this was a bad idea, not the other way around. Sherlock didn't date, and there was a reason for that. There was a reason he couldn't lean forward and separate the small distance between their lips. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, the best man John had ever known, but having a close friendship with him was the best John could hope for. He did not want to risk upsetting the delicate bond they shared, because nothing changing was better than losing everything.

"It's a bit cold, isn't it," Sherlock said. His body was pressed against John's. Their lips were so close. It would only take the slightest movement to do what Sherlock had insisted must never happen again. John found himself leaning in. Sherlock was leaning in as well, and his eyes looked more wild and uncertain that John had ever seen them. It occurred to him that this must be more terrifying for Sherlock than any villain they had faced. It involved emotion, and that wasn't the consulting detective's expertise. Oh, he would regret this in the morning, but he couldn't seem to stop.

Across the room, the bedsprings creaked. John and Sherlock both froze. A soft moan filled the room. Damn these horny Americans!

"Oh, would you two shut up already?!"


	10. Goldfish

The world was filled with goldfish. There were people like him, and Mycroft, Jim Moriarty, and Irene Adler that were different. These individuals were rare. John Watson was an average idiot. He was no different than the rest. So why did it fill Sherlock Holmes with a wonderful feeling like nothing he had ever experienced when John cuddled close to him in his sleep. A small smile spread across his lips.

He had told Mycroft before that maybe finding a goldfish worth keeping was a worthy goal. Maybe there was a reason he thought that. Perhaps John was no more clever than anyone else. However, sometimes it took a certain type of normal person to stimulate the mind of a genius. Maybe he had found his goldfish that was worth keeping. So why didn't he say any of this to John, the one person he felt he could share anything with?

He knew why, he just didn't want to admit it to himself, especially not cuddled against John under the covers as the morning light drifted through the window. He, Sherlock Holmes, was not afraid of kidnappers, killers, or anything else that haunted the nightmares of the everyman. When John had kissed him in the car, he had been horrified.

He was horrified not because he was not interested, but because he was very intrigued. John was the one person he could connect with on a level that he found he did not understand. He did not understand because it was not logical. It was not something he could deduct, or solve. There were no hard facts for him to examine. All he knew was that his heart had pounded in his chest, and he had felt something he could not comprehend. What was it?

"I know what it is," said a soft voice. Sherlock blinked. He had not said a word out loud.

"What?" he muttered.

"We can talk, if you like." He rolled over, and saw the strange man with the trench coat, Cas, was awake and staring at him with deep blue eyes. The freak even slept in that idiotic coat. Sherlock sat up, pulling his own dark trench coat around him as he realized that the room was chilly. He saw that snow had collected on the windowsill, and was still drifting down.

"OK," he said, narrowing his eyes at Cas, who sat up. Cas climbed out of bed, and slipped on his shoes. Sherlock put on his own shoes, and followed the strange man out of the room, down the hall, and through the lobby.

Cas walked down the sidewalk for a ways, and Sherlock followed him. Here was a mystery worth investigation. Mind reading, of course, was impossible. So there had to be an explanation for this man's knowledge of Sherlock's thoughts.

Cas turned around to face Sherlock. Snow was falling onto the empty sidewalk, and the light was tinted with a blood red from the rising sun. They were beside an apartment building, and their shadows seemed to dance against the bricks. The snow was shimmering in the morning light. All of the houses except one were glittering with Christmas decorations. Sherlock felt unnerved. He did not like the knowing look in this man's eyes.

"Well?" he asked. The shades on the houses around them were closed. Sherlock thought of the killer. Maybe it was this Cas creep. No, that was stupid. What was wrong with him?

"I know Sam and Dean would be furious with me for telling you the truth, but then, they can't read minds. I don't usually do so, because I have come to believe that it is intrusive and wrong, but I couldn't help it with you. Sherlock, you are too intelligent for us to continue lying to you. I am certain you would discover the truth either way. Besides, Sam and Dean want to protect the innocent from a world of horror. You and John already live in such a world, saving people, hunting human evil. Am I right?"

"So what is the truth?"

"The world is filled with monsters, demons, and even angels."

"I don't believe you."

"I didn't think that you would." Two dark shadows in the shape of angel wings spread behind Cas' back. Sherlock did not allow a hint of surprise to show on his face as he watched.

"There are a thousand ways you could be faking that," Sherlock said calmly. He could not think of a single way. He did not feel very calm. Cas' eyes flashed, glowing blue. Sherlock forced himself to conceal the gasp he felt almost escaping his lips. He took a deep breath.

"So you're telling me that you are an angel?" Cas nodded.

"Also, my real name is Castiel."

"Oh bugger off," Sherlock said. "How are you doing that to your shadow and your eyes?"

"I am the angel of Thursday."

"Whatever. Now go on, get your laughs out, and then tell me the bloody truth. You said yourself I'm too intelligent to lie to. I will deduce how you are doing this."

"I am not telling you this for my amusement. I am telling you because I think you could help us solve this case. Something is coming down the chimney, and killing people who dislike Christmas."

"So you lot have noticed that as well?" Sherlock asked. Of course, he had noticed that the people being targeted seemed not to be the jolly sort.

"Of course," Cas said. "Sam and Dean are the best hunters in the United States. They have saved the world more than once. I am honored to say I have even assisted them in doing so before."

"You love Dean, don't you?" Sherlock asked. Castiel's eyes stopped glowing blue, but the shadows behind his eyes remained.

"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"People think that because I am a sociopath I cannot understand emotions. I can, you know. It's all very chemical."

"You understand the emotions of others, Sherlock, but what about yourself?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"I am talking about your feelings for John Watson."

"He is my friend."

"I think we both know he is more than that. I told you, I try not to read thoughts, but I could not resist with you. I heard you this morning, thinking about him, your goldfish."

"How?"

"I told you, I am an angel."

"Stop being a cock."

"Excuse me. I am in a human vessel, but I do not resemble that part of the human anatomy. Yes, I have one, but that does not make me one."

"What?"

"Actually, I am pleased to say that Jimmy Novak has quite a-"

"I'm going to stop you right there. Who the hell is Jimmy Novak?"

"He is the visage I am currently in." Someone screamed in a house nearby. Sherlock and Cas looked at each other, wide eyes. Before Sherlock could react, Cas was holding his wrists. He was surrounded by a horrible swirling sensation, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing in a living room.

He did not have time to ask how Castiel had done this before the angel was pulling a powerful looking sword from out of his trench coat. A woman was screaming, and a man dressed as a traditional Santa Clause was standing over her, snarling. Sherlock could not believe his eyes. This man had sharp, gnashing teeth, and red glowing eyes. In place of hands, he had sharp claws protruding from his fingers. Even despite the terror, Sherlock realized that this was the one house that had been in their vicinity without any Christmas decorations.

Castiel was slamming the Santa Clause man against the wall, and holding his sword to his neck. Sherlock hurried over to the woman, and helped her up. She was sobbing, and gasping. She hugged herself against Sherlock, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"Why are you doing this?"

"The same reason you want to stop me," snarled the monstrous Santa impersonator.

"What?"

"Love."

"You are tearing people to shreds because of love?"

"Sure," he guffawed in disturbing impression of a Santa Clause laugh. He shoved Castiel away from him, and disappeared up the chimney, screaming with laughter.

Sherlock and Cas stared at each other. The woman was still clinging to Sherlock, and sobbing. He patted her back. What the bloody hell?

"Do you believe me now?"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."


	11. Miracle for the residents of 221 Baker

John stared at Sherlock, waiting for the laughter he was sure was coming. This had to be a joke. Sherlock Holmes did not believe in the Supernatural. He glared at his friend, waiting. The laughter did not come.

"So," he stated blandly. "You're telling me that Santa's evil brother is killing off people who dislike the Holidays, and this clown is an angel of the lord?" he gestured towards the guy whose name was apparently not Cas, but Castiel. According to Sherlock, he was the angel of Thursday. Castiel tilted his head to the side. John noticed Dean grinning a little. The two were sitting on their bed together, and Dean's arm was around the supposed angel. Sam was standing beside John, with his lips pursed. When Dean saw his brother's stern look, he quickly tried to hide the grin. Apparently, this nonsense was supposed to be a secret from John and Sherlock.

"I am not a clown," Castiel said, sounding confused. "I do not even resemble a clown."

"No, you really don't," Dean said, looking Cas over. John rolled his eyes. Damn horny Americans.

"Is that a flirtation?" Castiel asked, tilting his head once again. Dean's face reddened.

"Right," John said, shaking his head. This was madness. Sherlock was laughing a little.

"You know, John, he makes a fair point. He does not resemble a clown."

"I'm glad I am not the only one sometimes puzzled by human oddities," Castiel said, looking at Sherlock.

"Right?" Sherlock said. "Isn't it annoying, the things they expect of one?"

"Dean does not like it when I enter his personal space, yet he wraps his arm around me frequently," Cas said. Dean hurried to drop his arm and scoot away from Cas.

"John and our housekeeper, Ms. Hudson, think that I should clean up after I eat or do an experiment." John opened his mouth to protest but Cas was already speaking.

"Sam and Dean think that I should just appear whenever they pray to me for any reason, even when I am very busy with important work."

"John expects me to discuss the most trivial of things, like his date with some silly girl, and pretend to be enraptured."

"Alright, enough you two. We are right here!" John snapped. Sherlock and Cas looked at him, and both started chuckling. John and Dean exchanged a look, and simultaneously touched their foreheads with their palms, shaking their heads. Sherlock and Cas only laughed harder.

"OK," Sam said, chortling. "Seriously, though, I guess now it's all in the open. So you believe us?" John and Sherlock answered at the same time.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"No," John said. He turned to Sherlock in outrage. How could Sherlock believe this codswallop? "Seriously?" he asked. Sherlock stared into his eyes seriously, and John felt his stomach do a flip.

"I've gone over every possibility in my mind, and God help me, this one makes the most sense. You didn't see what I saw. John, please just trust me." John did not believe this insane threesome who claimed to be monster hunters, fighting for free will and peace on earth, and who the bloody hell knew what else. He did not trust them, but he did trust Sherlock, with all of his heart, God help him, he did.

"So, I think John makes a fair point," Castiel said. John raised an eyebrow. What had he said?

"About what?" Dean asked.

"This could be the work of Santa's evil brother." John burst into a bout of laughter. No way was this guy serious. Sam and Dean were laughing too. John wasn't sure if that made the theory even more crazy or not.

"Santa's evil brother?" Dean finally managed.

"Yes," Cas said.

"Wait, hold on, Cas," Sam said. "Are you telling us that Santa Clause is real?"

"Yes," Cas said. He tilted his head to the side at them. "You didn't know that?"

"But, I mean," Sam said. "It's the parents that leave the gifts."

"Saint Nickolas is a spirit," Cas said. "He is a benevolent entity that makes a list of naughty and nice children and resides in the North Pole, except to travel the world on Christmas Eve night. He rarely leaves physical presents, but he does leave gifts for the nice children of the world. The gifts he leaves are intangible, and seem to come from nowhere, like an extra hug from mom, or a smile from a dad who is normally depressed. Sometimes, he does leave physical presents, though. Sam, didn't you even wonder where Bobby acquired the God amulet you gave to Dean as a present?"

"Wait, you're saying Santa left Bobby that amulet?" Sam asked.

"I have no idea what the bloody hell you lot are talking about," John said. "But does it have a thing to do with the recent murders?" They all looked at him for a moment, and Cas opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by John's cellular phone buzzing. He picked it up, and flipped it open.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Is this John Watson?"

"Yes, why?" John covered up his mouth at the reply. It was the local authorities, calling him regarding his great aunt.

Apparently, she had been found dead in her bedroom, surrounded by bathing suits, and other apparel suited for Florida. She had been torn to shreds, just like the other victims. When John was finished speaking with them, he clicked his phone shut, and covered his mouth, staring ahead in shock. Everyone was looking at him. He had not been incredibly close with his great aunt or anything, but it was still awful business. He found himself sitting down on his bed, still staring straight ahead.

"John," Sherlock said in a soft voice. He placed a hand on John's shoulder. John did not look up as Sherlock sat down on the bed beside him. "I am deeply sorry about your aunt."

"I didn't know her all that well," John said. "It's just…I mean…Sherlock , you don't really believe that all of this is the work of Santa's evil brother, do you?"

"I don't know what else to believe," Sherlock replied.

"I know what we have to do," Castiel said. Everyone stared at him. "We have to convince Saint Nickolas to come here, and help deal with his brother, and find out why he is doing this."

"We have to summon Santa Clause?" John repeated. This just kept getting weirder.

"Yes," Cas said. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Sherlock all nodded. Well, John thought, if you can't convince them they're insane, humor them.

"So," John said, his voice shaking. "How do we summon the jolly old fellow?"


	12. Acceptance Part I

Part 1

"Why didn't you ever tell us about Saint Nickolas before?" Dean asked. He and Cas were sitting in a diner, waiting for their burgers to be ready. Sherlock, Sam, and John were back at the hotel reading up on how to summon Santa Clause. He had happily offered to pick up food for everyone as an excuse to get out of research, and Cas had agreed to come along. Dean was glad of this because it meant they could eat at the restaurant together, and therefore avoid going back to the books too soon. At the same time, he was worried about the topics that might come up, for instance the shift their friendship was taking. Of course, it had been on the brink of shifting since the moment their eyes met, and Castiel revealed that he was the one who had gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

"I assumed you knew about him."

"How did you know that he gave Bobby the amulet?"

"Bobby told me."

"Seriously?" Dean couldn't believe Bobby would keep something like this from him.

"He assumed you two knew as well."

"I told Sam that Santa wasn't real. I'll never forget that. It was the same night I told him monsters were real."

"Well, Saint Nickolas is very real. I just have no idea how to summon him. No one has ever succeeded in seeing him except for the garrison. We watched the earth for countless years, so we saw many things no human ever could."

"Thanks for being Mr. Hopeful," Dean grumbled. "That's real helpful."

"I am just being honest," Cas snapped. Dean looked up in surprise. Cas looked pretty pissed. Dean reached across the table, and placed his hand over his friend's. Cas started to pull his hand away, but something in Dean's eyes must have convinced him not to. They stared into each other's face for several moments. Castiel's eyes seemed to contain every shade of blue. They were so gorgeous, and infinite, and they seemed to gaze right into Dean's soul, which he supposed, maybe they really could.

"Burgers for Dean and Cas!" called the woman at the counter. Dean stood up to get the burgers so fast he tripped over a high chair at the table next to him, and fell face first on the floor. The kid started crying. Her mom, who was at the soda fountain, came running over. Face burning, Dean stood up. He turned to her, and felt his cheeks blazing even more than before. She was a hot blonde with boobs that burst out of her white button up shirt, and wide, dumb looking eyes.

"I am so sorry!" Dean said.

"It's no biggie," she said. "You're fine."

"I uh, OK," Dean managed. The girl leaned over to make sure her kid was alright, and Dean tilted his head to get a better look at her ass. Cas was beside him in an instant with the bag of burgers in his hands. He tilted his head, and stared along with Dean. When the girl started to turn around, they both hurried to sit at their own table, and look at one another.

"She is hot," Dean whispered.

"So hot," Cas agreed. Dean grinned. This was one of the many reasons Cas would be the perfect boyfriend. He wasn't the jealous type. Dean had been thinking about this a lot lately, and he was starting to think maybe their profound bond could not handle the sexual tension after all.

It was not because of any weakness, though, but because of strength. They were drawn to each other, that much was obvious. Dean had attempted to resist, and it was making things weird between him and his best friend. Maybe the path of least resistance was best.

"I can read your mind, you know," Cas said. Dean glared.

"I told you to stop doing that!" he smacked Cas on the side of the head playfully. Cas looked hurt for a moment, and then realized that Dean was laughing. Dean smirked at the angel swatted his head back. His smirk faded as he fell off of his chair. Cas was at his side, helping him up in an instant.

"Dean, I am so sorry," Cas whispered as he yanked Dean to his feet. Dean wobbled as he stood up, his head spinning a bit. "Angel strength. I forget." Dean laughed weakly as he collapsed forward into Cas' arms.

"S' no biggie," he managed. His head was ringing. He looked into Cas' eyes, and he couldn't seem to resist.

Dean didn't care that they were in a crowded restaurant, or that the hot chick was watching them. He just cared about that beautiful, perfect, face inches from his own, and the strong arms around him. He just care that this was the man who had sacrificed everything for him. No one but his closest kin had ever done more for him. Dean leaned in, and pressed his lips against Castiel's. The angle hugged him close, and kissed him back, and Dean wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, and he liked the feeling of the embrace around his own waist.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered into the angel's lips.  
"Agreed," Cas murmured. They forgot the food as they hurried out of the restaurant with their hands linked. Both of them were laughing like total idjits.

Dean jumped into the driver's seat of the Impala, and hit the gas. They zoomed through the streets of the quiet town, pulling into a darkened alley. Dean glanced around to make sure that no one was around before putting his baby in park. He hit play on one of his cassette tapes. "She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I've ever seen, knocking me out with those American thighs." He grinned as he smashed his lips against his angel's. He pressed himself on top of Cas, who lay back in the passenger seat, his arms still around Dean's waist. Dean thrust his hips against the angel's, kissing him on his lips, his cheeks, and his neck, everywhere. He unbuttoned the white shirt frantically. This was what he had wanted for so long.

"Cas," he gasped.

"Dean…" the angel moaned.

"I'm sorry I said we could never happen the other day. I was so afraid of losing you. You mean everything to me."

"You mean everything to me as well, Dean. I would do anything for you. I love you."

"I love you too." He fumbled with the zipped on Cas' pants, undoing it. He reached inside of his angel's underwear, and Castiel a sound of pleasure.

Within a few moments, the whole Impala was shaking violently. They were parked very far back in the alley, so that no one could see the car, and no one SHOULD have been able to hear anything. Yet, people passing the alley had to hurry along when they heard the moans and yells.

Part 2

John was shocked at the diligence with which Sherlock applied himself to researching something so obviously not real. This was so ridiculous. He groaned as he flipped the page in a book about summoning freaking Saint Nickolas.

"Sherlock, this is utter madness," he said, not for the first time.

"John, you said you trusted me," Sherlock said, glaring at him. The two of them were sitting beside the table in the hotel room on either side of Sam Winchester. Snow was cascading form the sky outside. It was sort of eerie how pleasant it should have been, but wasn't. It was almost supernatural the way the snow glimmered, reminding John that someone who loved the season far too much, was out there murdering innocents.

As it had been on an off all afternoon, Sherlock's comment shut John temporarily up. He did trust Sherlock. He really did. It was just that this was so insane. Santa's evil brother had not killed John's great aunt, or any of the others. That was impossible.

So why did Sherlock believe it? What had he seen that made him so certain these psychos were telling the truth? Of course, Sherlock had told John what he saw. A man with the shadow of angel's wings, and a monster dressed as Santa Claus, but with real claws.

Sherlock had been terrified when he thought that he saw the hound of Baskerville. So why was he taking this so calmly? John thought he knew why. Sherlock had been drugged then. He had not been in his right mind. Now he was in his right mind completely. Now he had evidence. He had seen, and now he believed. John realized that he needed to consider the possibility that this was all very real.

"Aha!" Sam said. Sherlock and John watched as Sam turned his laptop towards them. There was a picture of a wreath, mistletoe, and a Christmas tree with presents underneath. "It says here that the things that summon Saint Nickolas involve acts in the true spirit of Christmas. Cas said that Saint Nick really does go around to the houses of all of the nice children, it's just that they don't see him. Doing something in the true spirit of Christmas can't be that hard.

"What good will it do summoning this bugger, if we even can't see him?" John asked.

"Well, Cas is an angel. He will be able to see him, maybe even communicate with him," Sam replied, as if this was mere logic.

"Of course," John said. "Cas is an angel, so he will be able to see Santa Clause. That's good, not crazy at all."  
"Those two are taking a long time," Sam commented. "All they had to do was pick up burgers, and I gave Dean some money to pick up pie. He said I owed it to him for making him sleep in the bed with Cas." Sam rolled his eyes. "Like he really minded," he mumbled. Just then, Dean and Cas entered the room. Dean had an arm around Cas' shoulder.

"Hey guys," Dean said, sounding dizzy. John noticed his fly was down. The supposed angel's tie was crooked, and his shirt was buttoned unevenly, skipping random buttons. Cas' hair was always a mess, but it looked especially rumpled. Dean's hair was also sticking out in every direction.

"Um…" Sam said, staring at his brother. "Where's our food?"

"Oh yeah…That," Dean said. He shrugged. "We um, we forgot."

"Did you now?" John asked.

"Did you even forget pie?" Sam asked. Dean looked horrified.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" he groaned. John gasped as Cas suddenly disappeared. Sherlock just nodded, and Sam didn't even seem to be phased. Dean just looked a little disappointed until Cas appeared beside him again, holding the burgers, and a clear grocery bag with a tin of pie in it.

Dean leaned in, and gave Cas a huge, messy kiss. Sam coughed. Sherlock look away. John stared, his jaw dropped. What the hell was happening? Was he dreaming? This man had just disappeared and reappeared with burgers and pie. Why the bloody hell was everyone so calm?

"I did tell you," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, that you did," John said. He sat down on the bed, hyperventilating a little. This was real. This was really real. Angels were real. He supposed that meant monsters, demons, and everything else they had described was real.

Did this mean the apocalypse had really almost happened, and these three clowns had stopped it? John buried his face in a pillow. He felt Sherlock sit down beside him on the bed, and place a comforting hand on John's back. He was freaking out. How? How was this happening? None of it made any bloody sense. Santa Clause, his evil brother, and an angel that magically brought pie to his boyfriend?


	13. Acceptance Part II

"You are right, Sam," Cas said. "Acts in the true spirit of Christmas do indeed summon Saint Nickolas. It is just that he really only comes for children. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule." He glanced at Sherlock and John, wondering if this plan would work. He wasn't sure that they would accept it, even if he told them the truth. Dean unwrapped one of the burgers noisily and started eating. When he did, everyone else seemed to take it as a chance to dig in. John and Sherlock were sharing a large soda. "I have an idea. I am not certain it will be successful, but I believe it is worth a try," he said. Everyone waited. Cas took a deep breath. He had no idea how these men were going to take the news he was about to share. It did not seem that they had accepted their feelings completely, but perhaps this would help. "As you now know, Heaven is an actual place, though perhaps not as you imagine it. Everyone has their own personal Heaven. People are not allowed to share."

"Excuse me," John said. "Is there a point to this rather dreadful news?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Let him get to it," Dean snapped protectively. Cas smiled. John rolled his eyes and took a sip of the soda.

"There are exceptional cases when two souls are allowed to share the same Heaven. You have to understand, these situations are very rare. Soul mates are allowed to share a Heaven." He met looked Sherlock, and then John, in the eyes. "You two will be allowed to share a Heaven."

"What?" John did what Dean had explained as a spit take when they saw it in a movie. Sam glared at him as the soda splattered all over the room.

"You are soul mates. I can see souls, you know," Cas explained. John and Sherlock were carefully looking away from each other. Cas could only hope they would agree to this plan, as it was the only one he had.

"What does this have to do with the true meaning of Christmas?" Sherlock asked. Cas tilted his head to the side.

"Everything," he said. "True love is the meaning of Christmas."

"As nice as that is," Dean interrupted. Cas heard him thinking: 'Freaking chick flick moments, Jesus Christ…' Dean continued aloud. "I have to ask, man. How is this going to help us summon Saint Nickolas?"

"Oh," Cas said. "Right. I'll be right back." He flapped his wings, and flashed into an aisle in a popular store called Cappels. He looked around, hoping no one had noticed his sudden appearance. It was very crowded, and only a confused little boy was staring at him with curiosity. He tugged his mom's sleeve.

"Mommy, it's an angel!"

"That's nice dear," she said, without looking up from the display of mistletoes she was examining. Cas made his way over to them. He smiled at the small child. Certain children were gifted with the ability to see an angel's wings, even when they were hidden. He winked at the child. It was a human thing to do, something he had learned from Dean. The boy looked awestruck. His eyes were wide. Cas picked up one of the mistletoes, and with another flap of his wings, he was back in the hotel room.

He held up the mistletoe, smiling triumphantly. Sam smirked. Dean chuckled. Sherlock and John looked terrified.

"An act in the true spirit of Christmas," he explained, holding it up. Neither Sherlock nor John made a step towards him. In fact, John stood up and backed to the other side of the room. Sherlock just sat there, looking shocked, and that was something Cas didn't get the feeling was exactly common for the consulting detective. "It is our best hope of summoning the spirit of Saint Nickolas, and gaining his assistance in dealing with his brother." Sherlock and John met one another's eyes for the first time. They each took a deep breath, and walked towards Cas, who held the mistletoe up for them. They stood underneath it, both looking very scared.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock," John said.

"Merry Christmas, John," Sherlock replied.

Merry Christmas readers! I will be posting more later, I hope everyone is having a good Christmas, and thank you so much for reading my story. Thanks for all of the support so far!


	14. The True Meaning of Christmas

Part 1

For the first time that year, it really felt like Christmas time. This was the perfect Christmas Eve evening, even with Santa's evil brother on the loose. John closed his eyes, and leaned in. He pressed his lips against Sherlock's under the mistletoe the angel was holding above them. It was a moment of truth. The consulting detective wrapped his arms around the doctor, and they kissed again, under the mistletoe. Cas was right. This was the true meaning of Christmas.

John felt warm inside. He knew that the angel was right. This man was his soul mate. He accepted it without question. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Part 2

This was the first time this year that it really felt like Christmas time. It was the best Christmas Eve evening, even with Saint Nickolas' demonic brother slaughtering people. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned in. He pressed his lips against John's under the mistletoe that the angel was holding above them. It was a moment of truth. Sherlock knew without a doubt, and not because of a deduction, or any evidence, or investigation, that the angel was right. He could feel the warmth in his soul.

John Watson was his goldfish, the person he connected with in a pool of average idiots. John was his soul mate. Sherlock was happy. He was really happy. It was the perfect moment. He was in love with John Watson.


	15. Santa Clause VS Santa Claws

Castiel smiled. He could feel the warmth and happiness radiating from the two souls now sleeping sound in their bed, cuddled together. When two soul mates realized their feelings, it was a beautiful event. Their souls did back flips for one another. He was resting on top of the covers, beside his hunter, who was cuddled beside him. Sam was on the cot, sleeping.

"Cas?" He had been making an effort not to read minds, and hadn't realized Dean was awake.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry the plan didn't work. It was a good idea." Castiel forced himself not to reach inside Dean's mind. He could tell that the hunter had been planning on saying something else.

"It could still work. Saint Nickolas normally only comes when everyone is asleep."

"Right…Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Just…I love you. Thank you, for everything you've done." Castiel turned towards Dean, deep blue eyes met a bright green gaze.

"I love you too. Now what were you really going to say?"  
"Damn it. Why are you so good at that?"Cas laughed a little.

"I know you well."

"Right. It's just…I mean, you haven't really talked a lot about seeing people's souls before. I'm just wondering-"

"You want to know what your soul looks like, if it is broken, and mangled after your time in Hell."

"I told you to stop doing that, man."

"I did not read your mind. I read your eyes. There cannot possibly be a rule against that."

"Fine. So?" The hunter's normally brave face looked very vulnerable in the dull moonlight pouring in through the hotel window.

"Dean, I have loved you since the moment I first laid a hand on you in Hell. My siblings would say that I was lost, but I believe that I found myself in that instant. I will likely love you until at last I die for a final time, but sometimes, you can be such an idiot." Dean looked shocked. "I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. Do you think it was easy battling the armies of Hell? Do you think I would risk rescuing just anyone? Crowley and his crossroads demons have tricked thousands upon thousands of innocent souls into making deals and ending up burning for eternity. I knew when I saw you, without a shadow of doubt, that it was you I was supposed to rescue. Your soul was broken, and burnt, and imperfect, and it still is. I will not lie to you. What made me realize that it was you was that even through the scars and burns, and pain, even though you were torturing souls by that time, you shone more brightly than all the rest. You were not just innocent, and meant for Heaven like so many others, you were the righteous man. I could see how your love for your brother shone more brightly than all of the flames of Hell, how you sacrificed your own soul to save his life, and I knew it was you I was to save. So, that was the moment I lost track of Heaven, and fell in love with humanity, with you, and your beautiful soul, Dean Winchester."

"Wow," Dean looked awed. "I have no idea what to say."

"So don't say anything." Cas leaned in, pressing his lips against Dean's. It was a wonderful feeling. He opened his eyes to examine the flawless face before him, and gasped, pulling away.

"Mm, s'matter?" Dean asked, leaning in for another kiss.

"Dean, its Saint Nickolas!" Cas sat up. Saint Nickolas was standing in the middle of the hotel room. Castiel had seen Saint Nicolas in many visages before. Right now, he was in a traditional red coat, and pants. He even had on the traditional Santa hat, and was sporting a long white beard. Cas met the twinkling eyes of the old fellow. "Do you think you could make yourself visible to my friends? I know you don't normally allow humans to see you, but this is a bit of an exceptional case." Dean sat up, and gasped. John and Sherlock woke up, and looked up in amazement. Sam rolled out of the cot, standing and turning on the light.

"Thank you so much for coming!" the younger Winchester said.

"I would have made it sooner, but there is a rule stopping me from coming when people are awake. I managed to defy that for now, but my magic isn't as strong as the magic binding me to the rules I am meant to follow, for good reason, of course. So, let us get to the point. I know what my brother is doing. You can come out now, Krampus."

Everyone stood up, and Cas pulled out his angel blade. Standing beside Saint Nickolas was the evil man they had seen slaughter a woman. His claws shimmered, and his red eyes flashed. It was a horrible sight, this wicked abomination in a Santa Clause suit.

"Brother, please understand-" Saint Nickolas' evil brother began. He spoke in a hoarse voice that made Cas wrap his arm protectively around Dean, point the angel blade at the threat.

"I understand," Saint Nickolas said. He turned towards Sam, Dean, Cas, John, and Sherlock. "He is not doing this of his own free will."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Krampus loves people who despite Christmas. If he went on a murder spree, he would not target such people. That is how I immediately knew that this was not his doing," Saint Nickolas said.

"I was trying to send you a message with my victim choices," Krampus said.

"I understood. Brother, who is forcing you to do this?"

"A man who made a deal with a demon named Crowley for control of me. He is making me kill innocent people." Sam, Dean, and Cas exchanged a worried look. If the king of the crossroads was involved, this was worse than they thought.

"What was this man's name?" Saint Nickolas asked.

"Jim Moriarty." Castiel had never heard of this man, but the name clearly meant something to John and Sherlock, who exchanged a horrified look.

"What can we do to stop him?" asked Dean.

"That would be up to us, now," Sherlock said. John nodded.

"You've entered our territory, now, demon hunters," John explained. "If Jim is involved, we are about to come face to face with human evil."

Everyone stood there, waiting for someone to come up with a plan. No one said anything for a long time. Castiel hugged Dean close to him. He saw that Sherlock was holding John's arm with an iron grip.

"Merry Christmas," Saint Nickolas finally said in a soft voice. The sun was starting to come up outside. Saint Nickolas and Krampus vanished. It was officially Christmas morning. Cas supposed they were going to have to fight this Jim Moriarty.

It was an unusual Christmas. New friends were forged, new enemies made. They ate pop tarts from the vending machine for breakfast as they planned their attack on this Jim character. Sherlock agreed to go to one of the few pubs open on Christmas with John to celebrate their vacation while they still could, before Jim made his next move. Sam whispered something in Dean's ear, and the older Winchester looked resigned. A few moments later, he pulled Cas aside, and said that they could continue their driving lessons. Castiel knew this was a big decision for Dean. Damage done to the Impala was not taken lightly by the hunter, even if it was only minor. Cas pulled Dean into his arms, and kissed him for several moments in thanks. Sam coughed, and they all laughed. It was a nice Christmas, despite the impending fight with this Jim Moriarty villain. Of course, when were any of them not preparing for a fight? There would probably never be a time when they were not in preparation mode for some battle against evil. Sam, Dean and Cas were together. Sherlock and John were together. Now the two groups could work together, and that was something.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/favorited/reviewed this story. Happy Holidays! Sorry that I didn't finish this by Christmas, but I suppose worse things have happened lol. By the way, I also wrote a short Supernatural Christmas story in the theme of the traditional story "Gift of the Magi." You should totally check it out. Pretty please with pie on top? Moving on from my self pimpage...So, I know I didn't quite conclude the story. If anyone is interested in doing a sequel, that would be so awesome. Anyone is welcome to do so, and I would be very excited if anyone, or more than one person, wanted to try. Please write in and say that you are doing it (if you decide to) in the review section so that anyone reading the reviews (including me!) can go to your page and check it out. Anyway, Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukah/Kwanza/whatever you celebrate (sorry, I could not list all of the Holidays)! I hope everyone is having a wonderful Holiday season, and continues to do so. Again, thank you to all of the support, and remember, reviews are love!


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